Purfleet is an old village nestling beside the Thames, the M25 and the A13. It's best known as the English home of Bram Stoker's Dracula (there were a number of Conservative Party election posters around). Nowadays, it is a pretty quiet, desolate place, though when we arrived on Sunday, an evangelical church meeting was drawing to a close with clapping and loud cries. The Royal Hotel is the only pub in Purfleet: a large riverside place (part of which is grade II listed) which offers accommodation for the weary and a separate restaurant area for a meal out, as well as a downstairs bar. Of course, it is mainly locals who come here for a drink. We sensed a certain pride and community amongst the clientele, who literally seemed to know everyone else in the bar. The drink on offer is nondescript: no real ales, a few wines, Breezer clones in the chiller. While the bar menu is similarly unimaginative, we were pleasantly surprised by the freshness of our meals. Bland, modern furnishings (garish carpet - check) and the usual piped fodder (Minogue, Daniel Bedingfield) didn't help the atmosphere, especially in such a venerable building. The big beer garden and terrace offer a cracking view across the Thames: Erith, Dartford salt marshes and power station, and the Queen Elizabeth II bridge; Jerome K. Jerome territory it is not.